


Call Me (any, anytime)

by aqualined (inabstract)



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Community: tsn_kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabstract/pseuds/aqualined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tech help AU. (Or the one where Mark learns proper phone etiquette and that you <i>can</i> actually fall in love with the sound of someone's voice—well, maybe if that someone's Eduardo.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me (any, anytime)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [Call Me (any, anytime)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284649) by [noreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noreen/pseuds/noreen)



> Originally written for [this prompt](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/5147.html?thread=9043483#t9043483) on the kink meme: _Mark and Dustin work as university tech help guys, fielding calls from other students and professors about their computer problems (many of which can be solved by asking “Is it plugged in/charged?” or “Have you tried turning it off and restarting it?”). Eduardo is an unlucky student whose computer keeps screwing up, and through serendipity, his calls keep being picked up by Mark (and maybe eventually after a while Eduardo has started timing his calls for when he thinks Mark's work hours are) and they start a friendly flirtation and develop a mutual crush._  
> 
> _Just give something warm and fluffy and sweet._  
>     
> Title, of course, is from Blondie’s _Call Me_.

“IT Department, this is Mark. Do tell me all about how _you’ve_ messed up your computer today.”

A second later, Mark frowns at the receiver. All he can hear is the dial tone.

“Huh.” Mark shrugs, putting the phone back down on the hook. It couldn’t have been anything serious if the caller gave up _that_ fast without even saying a word.

Someone clears their throat directly behind him.

Mark whirls in his chair to face his supervisor, groaning internally. He really hates when they have their “special chats”.

.:.

Mark tries to stop his eyes from glazing over, but it’s getting increasingly difficult seeing as Chris pretty much gives him the same exact speech on a weekly basis.

Chris has an exasperated look on his face. “You’ve been here a year already. Is it really _that_ hard to fake a little enthusiasm?” He sighs tiredly, massaging his temples slightly. “And you know, _not_ insult our callers before they even get a chance to open their mouths?”

Mark makes an effort not to roll his eyes too hard. Chris _hates_ that. “The fact that I’ve been here so long is a testament to my technical aptitude, not my people skills.” He gives Chris a look. “If you recall, I never asked to do this phone-answering business.” Mark points out. “I would even go as far as to say I was _forcibly_ against the whole idea.”

Chris sighs some more. “This is all true, but your customer service only gets worse when you’re actually face-to-face with people. I’d rather not risk any more complaints.” He pauses for a second, studying Mark’s face. “Don’t let this get to your head, but we really can’t fire the best technician we have either.” Chris admits, only somewhat warily. “But you also can’t just hole up in the back with all the equipment.”

Mark perks up slightly. “Why not? That makes perfect sense to me. We should definitely do that.” He nods, almost on the verge of actual interest, except he’s Mark, so it ends up more like some sort of tic or twitch.

“We’ve been over this before—basic human interaction is part of the job.” Chris rubs at his face, looking fairly pained. “ _You_ signed up for it, now deal.”

Mark crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re being vaguely unreasonable here.”

“As are you.” Chris raises an eyebrow. “But I’m technically your boss, so I think I win this one.” He ignores Mark’s noise of frustration. “I mean, why can’t you be more like Dustin sometimes?” Chris gestures to the next cubicle over, where Dustin is animatedly chatting with whoever’s on the other line. There’s a lot of arm and hand flailing going on. Also, what sounds like a cackle.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Mark makes a face of disgust. “That—that’s just plain _uncalled_ for.”

“Okay, okay.” Chris concedes, putting his hands up in a vague surrendering gesture. “Maybe not _those_ levels of enthusiasm, but Dustin never gets any complaints and while I get that you couldn’t care less about being employee of the month, I’m kinda running out of excuses here.” He explains. “I would really hate to give you a negative report, when all you have to do is be nice for a few hours every other day.” Chris finishes with a pointed look.

Mark narrows his eyes at that. “Wait, what’re you talking about? Why am I being graded on niceness? I’m an IT guy, I _fix things_ , who cares how it happens as long as it _does_ ,” he adds, vaguely annoyed and more than a little confused.

“I’m sorry, Mark.” Chris gives him an apologetic look. “But if you don’t get some positive reviews by the end of the month, I’m going to have to fire you—or worse,” He makes a face. “Demote you to—”

Mark cuts him off abruptly. “Do not even say that out loud.” He points a finger at Chris accusingly. “That’s cruel and unkind and _technological blasphemy_.”

“ _Mark_.” Chris looks at him seriously. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll _try_ to work on my people skills.” He flicks his hand at Chris dismissively. “Thanks for caring. Now leave me be.”

“You realize I’m your _boss_.” Chris rolls his eyes at Mark, but relents, leaving to check on the rest of the department.

Mark settles back in his seat lazily and readjusts his headset, (he tends to prefer the old-fashioned way of answering the phone, but the headset does give him plausible deniability when ignoring Dustin, usually by pretending he can’t hear him through the headphones), waiting for the next caller in need of technical support.

.:.

As usual, the phone rings about half an hour into Mark’s shift. He narrows his eyes at Chris, who’s not even trying to be subtle about watching him take the call. It’s the first one (well, the first one Chris is actively observing) since their all important talk yesterday.

“IT Department, this is Mark. And how did _you_ screw up your computer today?” Mark’s attempt at polite and cheerful ends up slightly awry. Most would probably describe his tone as mockingly sarcastic, (and far from the best choice for customer service), but Mark doesn’t think he’s done anything actively offensive so it should be okay.

He purposefully ignores the way Chris throws his hands in the air in frustration and possibly yells, _goddammit Mark_. One of the other employees—a tiny brunette with a headset on and somehow, a receiver in both hands, shushes him, glaring in annoyance, so Chris leaves the room, muttering things about people’s general lack of respect for authority these days.

“Uh, hi. I’m calling because I’m having laptop problems, obviously.”

Whoever’s on the other line has a nice voice—warm and friendly-sounding and maybe even lightly accented. (Not that Mark usually gets a chance to appreciate his callers’ voices on a whole, seeing as he tends to get hung up on or yelled and cursed at angrily.)

“But I’m pretty sure they’re not my fault—” The caller explains somewhat tentatively. “I think there may be something wrong with the screen or the monitor itself.”

Mark cradles the phone in the juncture between his head and his shoulder, reaching for his third can of Red Bull. (It’s been like 48-hours since Mark’s been to bed. Luckily, Chris hasn't caught on to this fact yet. At least there hasn't been any admonishing or forcible dragging into the break room and making Dustin keep watch as Mark catches up on his sleep. Mark already has two, very thoughtful, borderline overbearing parents, he really doesn't need any more, thanks.)

“And you’re positive the computer’s actually on.” It’s more than a little sad how many issues have been resolved by simply reminding the caller that, hey, electronics have to be _on_ first for them to work, so you know, try that before wasting tech support time. Mark is frequently bitter at the stupidity and incompetence that seems to roam free at Harvard.

The guy on the other line sighs. “Yes, _Mark_.” He says pointedly. “I’m _not_ an idiot. I also made sure to check the battery and restart the thing. But no dice. Hence my calling you for technical support.”

“Fine.” Mark allows, before biting his lip thoughtfully. “Describe everything to me.” He pauses, considering, before remembering to add, “And when I say everything, I mean, _everything_. You’d be surprised how many people leave out the most crucial details—as if the fact that there are pieces broken off from the machine isn’t going to be a big deal in the long run.” Mark almost has to suppress the urge to shudder at all the terrible memory of previous callers. He takes a quick sip from his drink instead. “So who’s to say what _you’ll_ potentially mess up,” he finishes curtly.

“Oh.” The guy sounds a bit taken aback, but doesn’t let Mark’s tone faze him, following his instructions precisely—not even trying to argue or suggest that his own way of doing things might be better. Mark could get used to this level of cooperation. But he really shouldn’t seeing as Mark’s probably never going to hear from nameless student in technical distress again now that they’ve figured out that the laptop monitor’s inability to turn on really _wasn’t_ his fault and he’s pretty much going to need a brand new one altogether.

The guy on the other line sounds slightly disappointed that he’s going to need a new computer, (sentimental attachment, Mark guesses, which is to be expected—even he’s felt affection for a piece of tech or two in his time), but he thanks Mark all the same in a relatively bright sounding tone and even wishes Mark a nice day. People _never_ do that for him.

Mark can only hope the rest of his shift goes as smoothly.

.:.

The rest of the week passes by rather uneventfully. People call and complain about their various problems—no internet connection, viruses, the dreaded blue screen of death and Mark is maybe only a tiny bit less rude than normal.

At some point, Chris winds up making an executive decision to take Mark off the phone lines to do most of the department’s manual repairs instead, in an attempt to do damage control. (Mark’s not sure how, exactly, leaving the tech helpline understaffed is helping anyone, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He prefers his quiet corner right by the break room, where he can just tinker with his machines while close enough to a steady supply of refrigerated Red Bull or Mountain Dew.)

Unfortunately, Chris does make a point to tell Mark to spend his breaks studying Dustin’s phone etiquette and overall _technique_. Mark briefly contemplates quitting (for about the tenth time), but really, who else on campus would hire him? Or put up with him for so long the way Chris has? Not to mention he’s not exactly qualified or experienced enough in anything outside of computers and code. The thought that Mark’s essentially trapped in IT is only a tad depressing.

It’s not the first time Chris has resorted to these vaguely desperate measures. Mark even has a notebook at hand from the last attempt at customer service training. The first few pages are filled with “notes” Mark pretends to be studiously and dutifully taking, but there’s actually nothing of substance in it other than sketches and doodles and an entire list of things Mark would rather be doing at that very moment in time.

So basically this means he’s currently stuck watching Dustin politely explain to one of his professors the difference between Twitter and Tumblr. Mark really doesn’t want to know.

At least, it’s better than the previous call, which apparently turned out to be a girl Dustin knew from one of his classes—a Stephanie something.

There was an unfortunate amount of flirting. Or what Mark assumes was flirting—he’s not the best with this social interaction stuff and from the looks of it, Dustin’s not doing too well on his end either. The conversation ends a bit stiltedly and Dustin looks a second away from pouting. Or worse, _confiding_ in Mark. (The last time this happened, Dustin ended up half in tears, drunkenly mumbling nonsense into Mark’s shoulder as he desperately tried to finish coding something for class.)

So Mark quickly avoids that potential mess of emotions, mainly by tossing a crumpled ball of paper at Dustin’s head and asking his thoughts on a layout plan for his newest project—personally, Mark likes a clean design, namely, a streamline blue-and-white color scheme, but it can’t hurt to have a second opinion.

As expected, Dustin perks up at that and smiles brightly at him. He truly does enjoy being needed and generally useful. Sometimes Mark thinks Dustin maybe forgets that Mark (and everyone in IT, really,) knows and appreciates how good his coding can be. Once you get past all the standard Dustin silliness and general hilarity (which, arguably, are the best parts of the package), there’s really a whole lot of enthusiasm and productivity. Dustin’s just the kind of guy that needs the proper amount of encouragement to flourish. (Also, candy and video games.)

The project’s still going to need a ton of work, but Mark can’t wait to see the look on Dustin’s face when he finally asks him to be one of his head programmers.

.:.

Before his shift that next Monday, Chris approaches Mark with a relatively stern look on his face. Apparently, whoever Chris’ supervisor is, (Mark should probably start learning the names of the people signing his paychecks), hasn’t been happy with the slew of complaints the IT staff have been getting.

Mark understands that—this is practically a business after all, but honestly, it’s not his fault if people can’t let their grudges go. (Okay, so Mark realizes in hindsight, that drunk blogging about Erica and crashing the university’s servers for a simple social experiment wasn’t the best plan he’s come up with, but that was over a semester ago and people have really got to stop taking things so personally.) Instead, a select number of students whose delicate sensibilities have somehow been offended by Mark, spend their time choosing to tie up the Tech Department’s phone lines or raise false complaints in an attempt to make Mark look bad and then, have the nerve to call _him_ an immature asshole.

Basically, Chris finishes the conversation by telling Mark that he did all he could, but Mark’s still technically on some sort of probation for who knows how long.

After that, naturally, Mark’s first call doesn’t go too well—he’s still full of pent-up anxiety and undue stress thanks to this added pressure of having to _behave professionally_ for the technically-challenged masses.

He’s not exactly sure how, but Mark manages to minimize the sarcasm for his next one.

“Hello, this is the IT Department. Mark speaking, how may I assist you today?” From the corner of his eye, Mark can spot Chris nodding approvingly, before moving on to check on something in his office. Mark releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

The voice on the other line chuckles softly. “I see you’ve been working on your bedside manner, so to speak.” The caller sounds vaguely familiar.

Mark frowns. “Do I know you?”

“This is Eduardo.” His tone is a little sheepish. “We haven’t technically met—or rather, I never actually gave you my _name_ , but I, ah, called the other day.” Eduardo finishes, a tad awkwardly.

Oh. Mark does recall him. It’s vaguely comforting to finally put a name to the voice, though Mark’s not exactly sure why that is. People call back all the time with computer trouble. Apparently, there really is a first time for everything.

“Yeah, I remember.” Mark nods, even though Eduardo obviously can’t see him over the phone. “You weren’t actually at fault for your computer screen malfunctions. Don’t tell me you’ve screwed something up _yourself_ now.”

“If it’s any consolation, I still don’t think it’s my fault.” Eduardo says, sounding a little more sure of himself now. “I’m usually pretty good at handling these things, but for whatever reason, here we are.” He’s sort of laid-back for someone with computer problems. Weirdly, Mark doesn’t mind Eduardo’s general pleasantness—it’s not forced or fake-sounding or even grating. That’s pretty rare.

Mark sighs (though it’s not due to frustration or annoyance like usual). “Well, you were right last time, so I guess we’ll just have to figure this out again.”

Mark tries to ignore the warm feeling in his chest at hearing Eduardo’s almost eager-sounding response, (his tone noticeably perked up from his already gentle voice), but there’s really no denying the way Mark’s own mood lifts after that.

.:.

As the next couple of shifts drag on by, Mark momentarily forgets all about Eduardo.

Which is probably why he doesn’t process Dustin’s excited voice and what can only be described as giggling, at some _Wardo_ person, whoever that is.

Mark tries to drown out Dustin’s overall giddiness with lines of code, but it’s a little difficult when Dustin’s prattling on enthusiastically with his arms flailing just about everywhere, almost close enough to encroach on Mark’s personal desk space.

In retaliation (and mostly because Dustin didn’t seem to notice the way Mark was narrowing his eyes at him for a good two minutes), Mark pelts Dustin in the side of the head with an empty soda can. It makes a dull, but nonetheless satisfying, noise upon contact. Predictably, Dustin squawks overdramatically and spins in his chair to tell Mark to _stop being such a jerkface_ , before explaining over the phone that, _it’s nothing really, just Mark being Mark._

Mark frowns at the way Dustin so casually dropped his name in the conversation like the person on the other end knows him or at least knows _about_ him, but before he can dwell too much on it, his own line rings again and he scrambles for his headset.

“IT Department, Mark here. Please describe to me the nature of your problem.”

.:.

It turns out to be nothing more than a basic request for someone from IT to come over and check on the History Department’s toner cartridges and wireless internet connection. Mark can probably get Chris to send one of the new kids running over there later. He’s way too important to make a trip for such mindless menial labor himself.

As Mark’s hanging up, he can’t help but overhear Dustin’s happy exclamation of, _Wardo_ , and the softer, but still really fucking obvious (since Mark is sitting right next to him and trying to be productive), _why didn’t you tell me that_?

He doesn’t know why that gets his attention until Dustin’s staring right at Mark, wide-eyed with the beginnings of a significant _look_ and what will undoubtedly be an overeager smile creeping up his face.

Mark narrows his eyes at Dustin, whose grin only widens at that. He says something (actually inaudible this time) into the receiver, presses a few buttons and turns to Mark, whose own phone is now ringing, the flashing light blinking mockingly at him.

“You should probably get that.” Dustin says in an incredibly knowing tone. He waggles his eyebrows a few times for good measure.

Mark can only glare in return, as he roughly grabs the receiver and lifts it to his ear. ”Yeah?”

“Mark?”

Mark makes a faintly surprised noise into the phone. “ _Eduardo?_ “ He’s not sure what it says about Mark that he can recognize the owner of that particular voice from simply saying his name.

“Ah, hi.” Eduardo coughs slightly. “This isn’t a bad time is it? Because I can call back later if—”

“No?” Mark makes a face that he knows Eduardo can’t see, unconsciously settling back in his seat comfortably. “I mean, clearly I’m at work so I’m not quite sure how to respond to that.” Mark pauses for a second, considering the possible reasons why Eduardo might want to talk to him specifically, at this very point in time. (He can’t come up with any. Well, at least not any viable ones.) “Though I swear, if something else you own is fucked up, I might have to kill you myself.”

Eduardo laughs at that, surprising Mark in the process. People usually take his bluntness and sarcasm personally. Way too personally.

Mark risks at glance over at Dustin’s desk. He’s not sure why exactly, but he’s not too surprised to find Dustin basically just _watching_ Mark, chin in his hands and a stupidly fond look on his face.

.:.

Eduardo calls a few more times over the next couple of weeks with actual technical difficulties. (Strangely enough, these all happen during Mark’s various shifts.)

First, because there’s something wrong with his printer. That gets easily resolved when Mark realizes that Eduardo only needs to put the installation CD in his new computer to get it calibrated and working properly again.

And then again, because his econ project partner inexplicably managed to jam a _pen_ of all things into his disk drive and now, not only does it mean Eduardo can’t watch his DVDs in peace, but it also makes funny noises, which he seems more than happy to recreate for Mark’s informational purposes. (Mark really can’t help the short burst of laughter he lets out at Eduardo’s less than technically accurate impression of his laptop’s whirring sounds.)

There’s not much Mark can do about that particular issue over the phone, but they still manage to spend a good half-hour on the line anyway before Chris comes over and reminds Mark about the _no personal calls rule_. (Which is frankly ridiculous considering all the fooling around Dustin does on a regular basis, not to mention the fact that Eduardo totally had a legitimate technical emergency.)

The calls don’t stop there. Somehow, within the span of two weeks, Eduardo manages to have problems with his speakers, webcam, printer again, and his external hard drive.

It’s getting to the point where Mark’s half-inclined to believe that Eduardo’s either extremely unlucky or that this is a case of sabotage. For whatever weird reason. Because really, who voluntarily busts up their own computer and electronic equipment—that’s beyond illogical. (And if Eduardo were actually that stupid, well Mark would’ve stopped taking his calls ages ago. Or maybe passed them on to Dustin. That’s probably punishment enough.)

Either way, Mark fields a number of calls from Eduardo and doesn’t really seem to mind it at all. Mark supposes the fact that Eduardo is far more pleasant—in voice and overall demeanor, than all the other callers Mark’s _ever_ had does help his case.

Though he still can’t figure out why Dustin looks increasingly excited each and every time this happens.

.:.

They develop a bit of a routine after that.

Mark’s not exactly sure why, but Eduardo keeps calling back—even without the pretense of laptop or any other sort of electronic malfunctions. (And if for whatever reason, Mark’s not actually at his desk and winds up missing him, well, Dustin’s pretty much always there to pick up and keep Eduardo occupied. Apparently, they’ve been friends for the last year or so, which is kind of news to Mark.)

Eduardo’s also incredibly, and maybe unnecessarily thoughtful about it—usually making sure to call when he knows it’s late (as to not tie up the lines for students or whoever else might actually need tech help) and Mark’s working the night shift. No one else really calls at this time except under extreme circumstances (it’s midterms and finals season when most of the post-midnight emergency calls start coming in and the department’s usually fully-staffed on those dates) so Mark sort of appreciates the company (Dustin definitely doesn’t count and Mark can’t be bothered to know more than half the names of the other people in IT at any given time) while he alternates between lines of code for his big project and manual repairs as part of his job.

It’s honestly quite bewildering as the only other repeat callers Mark can actually remember having are the Winklevoss twins.

Every so often, one of them—usually Tyler (as Cameron is a “gentleman of Harvard” and only partakes in his brother’s hijinks when forcibly coerced, namely through copious amounts of alcohol), magically figures out when Mark’s working, which results in less than imaginative prank calls from them (and sometimes even their privileged jock friends or fellow Porc members—the two aren’t mutually exclusive) during his late night shifts. As if Mark doesn’t recognize their voices by _now_ —seriously, he may be occasionally oblivious or just not in any real position to care, but this is getting old.

Mark wonders when they’re going to get over the fact that he doesn’t want to code for their lame Harvard-oriented version of _Match.com_ (seriously, how contrived is that?), if ever, because this is reaching new levels of pathetic. Then again, the Winklevii were never exactly paragons of maturity. Sure they may be handsome and rich and row crew (potentially for the Olympics even), but it takes a little more than that to gain Mark’s respect. Or cooperation.

It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s got bigger and better things to worry about. He’s got a plan.

.:.

Eventually, Eduardo gets comfortable enough to go along with Dustin’s long-running and not at all amusing joke that he’s Mark’s _work mistress_ (to Dustin’s work wife, naturally).

Mark still doesn’t know what to take from that, but Eduardo now greets him with a, _how was your day, honey_?, so it’s only fair that Mark regales him with tales of incompetence and general disdain over the decline of today’s college students, in return.

Luckily, all of this tends to make Wardo laugh. (Apparently, Mark’s also comfortable with him. At least, enough to use nicknames now.) In fact, he laughs pleasantly and heartily at pretty much all of Mark’s anecdotes, never offended at his choice of words or overall rudeness—this intrigues Mark to the point that he maybe starts embellishing a little, adding tiny details here and there, which rapidly evolves into clearly hyperbolic additions to his stories just to see if Eduardo will possibly laugh even harder.

He does. (But he also sometimes admonishes Mark for being _absolutely terrible_. Somehow coming from Wardo it doesn’t exactly sound like a complaint.)

After about a week of calls like this, Mark even remembers to return the courtesy by asking Eduardo about his own day as well.

And if Mark starts staying slightly later each shift (and the calls start lasting a little longer), well, no one can exactly _prove_ a direct correlation between the two.

.:.

Mark’s general evaluation comes and goes with Chris being extremely pleased at how well Mark’s been doing lately. He even tells Mark to keep up the good work.

Apparently, the customer service reviews came back with high praise—not only on Mark’s technical ability (which tends to be the norm), but his overall likability and helpfulness were so much better than Chris expected. Mark tries not to be too insulted at that, especially since all this really means is that Mark’s not going to get fired anytime soon. (Which is practically cause for celebration, or at least a sigh of relief.)

According to Dustin, who more than gleefully explains during one of their lunch breaks, it’s because Mark’s too distracted and moony-eyed over Wardo to really be mean to people on the helpline anymore.

And frankly, Mark is in no position to disagree with that. (Especially considering the fact that he and Eduardo exchanged class and work schedules a while back. For convenience purposes, naturally. Though Mark maybe has a spreadsheet set up for Wardo with prime calling hours so his calls don’t overlap with Mark’s optimal coding time. Whatever. It’s really not that big a deal.)

.:.

Okay, so maybe Mark’s not always the most _perceptive_ guy when it comes to social cues and general human interaction, but all these calls—Eduardo _has_ to be flirting—which must mean that he has some sort of vested interest in Mark.

(In hindsight, maybe Mark should’ve pieced this all together a lot earlier. No one’s _that_ unlucky—not to mention, brand new laptops don’t just _fall apart_ that easily.)

In order to make fully sure Mark isn’t delusional and projecting, or worse, pining in vain, he asks Eduardo about it, about why the calls continue (despite a laptop that’s perfectly fine and every other piece of electronic equipment he owns seemingly in top working condition). As it turns out, Eduardo just kind of misses the sound of Mark's voice—he admits this one night with an awkward laugh, his tone soft and shy and almost embarrassingly sweet. The thought fills Mark with some kind of ridiculous warmth (that he knows has everything to do with Eduardo because coming from anyone else those words would be beyond trite and meaningless). It’s hardly a declaration of love, but it’s most certainly _something_.

So now what? Mark has no idea what to do with this newfound information—does he _play it cool_ (like Dustin eagerly suggests as soon as he figures out Mark’s got a boy-type dilemma of sorts), or completely forget about the whole thing and pretend like nothing’s happened, like Mark didn’t suddenly have a Wardo-related epiphany and really, they’re nothing more than phone pals or something far less alliterative and dorky-sounding—wait, do hour-long calls count as _dating_? And when does something stop being considered _casual_?

This is a mess.

Dustin pouts or gives Mark looks of distress, eerily reminiscent of something Disney or Muppet-like, anytime he even implies that Eduardo is anything less than _amazing_ and _charming_ and _wonderful_ , which is no help whatsoever. (Plus, Mark is obviously already perfectly aware of all of these facts.) He is, however, completely on board with the idea that Mark’s calls with Eduardo count as them _seeing each other_. (Dustin also loudly hints around the office that he would be the _greatest best man to ever best manned_ , which is more than a little unnecessary. And jumping the gun quite a bit.)

It’s kind of terrible how Mark has no idea what he’s even doing anymore. No matter how many times he tries to wrap his head around it, Mark’s still pretty stuck on the fact that _Eduardo_ (of the admittedly nice, but still ultimately disembodied voice) seems to want him in some romantic capacity. Despite the fact he’s never even met Mark in person—which is totally weird isn’t it?

.:.

“It’s not _that_ weird, Mark.” Eduardo reassures him, the next time they manage to sync their respective schedules. “I mean, how is this any different than online dating?” He points out reasonably. “I’d even go as far as we’re a couple steps up from that.”

“How do you figure?” Mark asks, actually sort of curious about Eduardo’s thoughts on the matter.

“Well, we’ve both got a mutual friend in Dustin.” Eduardo notes, before snorting at Mark’s noise of distaste, clearly audible through the receiver. “And seeing as we’ve actually spoken on a regular basis and we both attend the same university, I sincerely doubt either of us are lying about our ages—hoping to snag some jailbait or rich older gentleman.” Wardo pauses briefly, before adding. “Ah, or lady—I just realized I never officially asked if you swung both ways.”

Mark considers that. “I hate it when you get all logical on me.” He absolutely does not pout. Not that there’s anyone here to see it even if Mark was. So there. “But I do.” Mark remembers to answer. “Swing both ways that is.”

Eduardo laughs loudly—the sound rich and warm in Mark’s ear. “Well, that is certainly good to know.”

.:.

Things merely progress further and faster after that.

The next time Eduardo calls, after vaguely establishing the parameters of their new relationship or whatever, Mark _nearly dies_. This is only a partial exaggeration.

It’s a Friday afternoon and Mark’s not really paying attention to anything around him, distractedly trying to get every new idea for the site down before he forgets, or worse, has to do some real _work_ for Chris. (Mark initially worried that Wardo might get the wrong idea about his tendency to drift in and out of conversation, but the fact that he’s stuck around even after bearing phone witness to one of Mark’s longer coding tears is incredibly comforting.)

So it’s hardly his fault that it takes him a minute to register Eduardo’s words—that is, until Wardo comes right out and asks, _so what are you wearing?_ , in a voice that is more than a little coy and suggestive and honestly, just really, really hot.

Mark almost chokes on a Red Vine, barely managing to clear his throat and sputter an _excuse me?_ , while scrambling to make sure that he didn’t mess up any code mid-panic.

Eduardo chuckles, more than a little amused at Mark’s caught off-guardedness (of course, because Wardo is ever the consummate gentleman, this is only after he concludes that Mark is fine and not dead from potentially embarrassing candy-related asphyxiation).

“You are the worst. I totally hate you right now.” Mark finally manages to get out, his voice noticeably hoarser. A trip to the break room is too much effort right now so Mark grabs a can of Red Bull on his desk that’s not completely empty and drains the very last drops from it in an attempt to soothe his slightly achy throat. It sort of helps.  
“I don’t think you do.” Eduardo shoots back easily. “Also, I believe you’re avoiding the question, Mark.” He lowers his voice into something ridiculously seductive for three in the afternoon. “What are you _wearing_?”

Mark actually shivers at that (and even though this thing between them is practically brand new and barely defined), he suspects Eduardo has every inkling of what his voice does to Mark, which is really, just _so_ unfair.

“ _Wardo_ ,” Mark makes a strangled noise. “I’m at work—you _cannot_ ask me that now.”

Eduardo laughs. “Like you’re ever one for propriety.” This is mostly true. Mark can’t remember the last time he really cared about that kind of thing. But still, it’s the principle of the matter.

“I resent that.”

“But you know I’m right.” Eduardo counters teasingly.

“Okay, you make a valid point.” Mark relents. “I suppose I’ll have to call you back later, _after hours_. We are so not having this conversation during my shift.” Mark gets a horrified look on his face upon casually eyeing Dustin’s currently abandoned workspace. “ _Dustin’s_ desk is like right there. I will never live it down if he hears about this.”

This causes Eduardo to burst out laughing. “You’re worried about offending Dustin’s delicate sensibilities? Because I have to tell you, that ship has definitely sailed.”

Mark narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure I want to know what you mean by that, but no, ew—I’m more worried about scarring _myself_ for life here.”

“Ah, of course.” Eduardo makes a noise of agreement. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“How do you even do that—make everything mundane all _sexy and suggestive_?” Mark wonders out loud. “Is this some innate Brazilian thing or do you double as a phone sex operator in your downtime?”

Eduardo sounds incredibly amused as he tells Mark that it must be a combination of the two—he kind of did practice, but only a little—because he _really_ wanted to see how flustered he could get Mark.

The next logical course of action is obviously for Mark to turn the tables on Eduardo, but he gets visibly flushed when Wardo describes _everything_ he’s got on, which is to say, not very much at all—just a pair of black boxer-briefs (if he’s to be believed, after all, it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday).

Mark’s mouth literally waters at hearing that, before his brain kicks back into gear and Mark practically hisses into the receiver, _fuck, Wardo_.

Eduardo’s more than a little pleased at this turn of events. ”Was that an offer?”

“Ugh, you’re doing it again.” Mark makes a noise of frustration. Half of it, well, probably more, may in fact be sexual. This is so unbecoming. “Hanging up now.” He quickly gets out, before any real thoughts of practically naked Brazilian guys with sex-ready voices sink in. “Goodbye Wardo.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Mark. So we can finish this the right way.” Mark can practically hear Eduardo’s grin over the line. “That’s a promise.”

.:.

So Mark officially knows what Eduardo sounds like when he comes. (For the record, it’s really kind of perfect and far better than the poorly acted porn on Mark’s hard drive.)

This is information that Mark totally and unapologetically files for later. (He likes to think that Wardo’s done the same, but doesn’t dare ask. It’s embarrassing enough as it is that he’s heard _all_ of Mark’s heavy breathing and choked-off moans and possibly even whining.)

Now, Mark completely accepts and appreciates the fact that he’s _dating_ Wardo and they’re having insanely good phone sex on a regular basis (that is, for the past two weeks, when Mark wasn’t on a coding tear, but absolutely never during work hours, where Chris, or worse, _Dustin_ might find out), which means that sometimes, in between being almost obnoxiously cute and asking Mark about his day via text, Eduardo also sends random facts or silly jokes or a simple smiley face.

It’s getting sickeningly sweet (Dustin tends to make overly dramatic retching noises when he’s within earshot of one of Wardo’s calls, which is definitely a change of pace from the way he used to coo and aww at Mark during them—apparently, even Dustin has his sappiness limits) and verging on domestic. But the fact remains, that this is really not the most traditional relationship, which in itself, is more than a bit confusing.

Shouldn’t Mark be a lot older and have possibly succumbed to a hermit lifestyle—holed up in some sad, dark, lonely apartment somewhere before he has to resort to such unconventional methods of interpersonal relationship? Mark also can’t comprehend what’s stopping him and Eduardo from being regular college kids that go out on stupidly simplistic dates to the movies or bowling and maybe even hold hands or steal kisses where no one can see them so they don’t become one of _those_ couples. At the very least, Mark figures he should be having messy, fumbling, but still ridiculously hot sex with Wardo that’s also probably ill-advised considering how small his bed is. That’s not too much to ask, really. Well, Mark doesn’t think so.

He doesn’t consider himself a particularly shallow or superficial person, by any means, (not to mention, Mark can hardly judge when his own personal upkeep leaves a lot to be desired), but in the long run, whether they want to admit it or not, isn’t everyone? It’s a little strange to think that Mark finally knows someone so incredibly intimately, but still hasn’t the slightest clue what they look like. It’s not that he’s terribly concerned about it since Mark’s pretty sure that Dustin wouldn’t befriend or frequently associate with anyone absolutely repulsive—physically or personality-wise, and since Eduardo’s got the personality part down in spades, the rest must follow suit, right? Mark refuses to believe that anyone _that_ charmingly sweet and smart and funny could be _hideous_ as well. (But Mark supposes it must mean something that he doesn’t even care. Wardo could be some kind of scaly green mutant with horns and tail or whatever else is equally insane-sounding and it’s highly probable that Mark would still be ridiculously infatuated with him. Maybe Mark’s finally growing as a person. Chris and Dustin would be so proud.)

Okay, so maybe Mark’s somewhat frustrated that it’s been _forever_ and he can’t put a face to the voice—all he wants is to be able to picture Eduardo’s eyes, how blown and dark his pupils must get when he’s turned on or how red and bitten his lips get before they shape into a wordless moan or the feeling of Wardo’s hands _everywhere_ , touching, roaming, skimming across Mark’s skin. The thought alone makes him shiver slightly in anticipation.

Mark _wants_ him, craves him really—he needs to know what Eduardo feels like, smells like, _tastes_ like. Sure, he may be young and there are probably hormones at work or whatever, but it’s bordering on unbearable. There is nothing Mark wants more right now than to know what Wardo looks like, but at the same time, nothing terrifies him more.

But if they’re going to be in a proper relationship, this is only the next logical step forward. They’ve been putting it off far too long—Mark simply has to man up and ask him. That shouldn’t be too hard. He thinks.

.:.

As it turns out, Eduardo beats him to it.

It’s vaguely annoying (because Mark can’t help but sometimes feel like Wardo has secret mind-reading powers and this is his way of taunting him with them), but frankly, Mark’s just really glad it’s all finally out in the open.

“We should meet,” Eduardo comes out with matter-of-factly, not two days after Mark’s big emotional breakthrough or whatever (that subsequently ended with a resolution to ask Wardo the same thing by the end of the week, at the latest).

Mark chokes on his Red Bull, more than a little unprepared to hear those words, coughing so violently that Dustin rolls over via chair to Mark’s side and slaps him far too heartily on the back.

“Jesus, Mark. Are you okay?” Eduardo sounds incredibly worried over the line, while Dustin stops pounding at Mark’s back, choosing to stare at him in avid concern and confusion instead. Mark rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Mark manages to tell them both. “Really. I, uh, just swallowed the wrong way.” Eduardo _hmms_ , appeased, and Mark assumes, also relieved to hear that he hasn’t choked to death. Again. Dustin simply shrugs, shaking his head despairingly at Mark and wheeling back to his own workspace.

“So do you?” Eduardo asks again, after a moment (of not uncomfortable silence where he and Mark kind of just listen to sound of each other’s breathing). “Want to meet, that is.” He clarifies, unnecessarily. Mark doesn’t think he imagines the slight, uncharacteristic waver in Eduardo’s voice. (He hopes that means Wardo is somewhere on campus, heart racing, maybe even gripping his phone too tightly and feeling the same swirling of emotions that Mark is right now.)

“Um, yeah.” Mark swallows nervously. His pulse is racing and it feels like his heart is beating a mile a minute, almost threatening to burst from right out of his chest from sheer emotional overstimulation and overload. Mark’s entire body is literally _thrumming_ with anxiety and anticipation and _hope_. “We should definitely do that.”

.:.

Mark is an absolute nervous wreck.

He's still not sure what to expect. It's been three days since _the call_ , and while Eduardo has obviously spoken to Mark since then (though their conversations have definitely grown more stilted, rife with nerves and anticipation), it doesn't get any less intimidating.

Mark's even tried to take it easy—putting off work on the site (as it turned out, Dustin was more than happy to be a part of the project, maybe even a little _too_ touched, considering the way he launched out of his seat to _hug_ Mark, practically suffocating him as soon as he brought it up) and not really doing too much in terms of mechanical repairs or manning the helpline—Chris had initially despaired of this, but somehow Dustin talked him out of yelling at Mark for slacking off the entire week (it helps that he has a lot of overtime built up), which would be nice and all, if it didn't mean that Mark was now indebted to him for at least a small favor. Whatever, Mark can list him as one of the co-founders of _TheFacebook_ or whatever. Problem solved.

Back to the real crisis at hand—Mark's not positive what to do with himself with all this spare time. (He still shows up to class, but pays even less attention than usual. Mark’s not quite sure why he bothers going, but it’s probably better than sitting around in his dorm or the IT Department, _pining_.) He considered asking Dustin about it earlier, but when Mark even hinted at the whole finally meeting Eduardo in person thing, Dustin burst into laughter, prattling on about how he already had to deal with Eduardo's neuroses and can only take so much ridiculousness in his life. Frankly, it’s quite relieving to hear that Wardo's feeling the nerves a little bit himself, but that doesn't change the fact that Mark _still doesn't know what to do_.  
His thoughts only get more absurd the more time Mark’s left to think on it.

Does he dress up for the occasion? Is this formal event big or would that be too presumptuous? Are they going to make eye significant eye contact from across the room and then immediately run into each other's arms to the tune of some sappy love song that's only playing in Mark's head? Mark doesn't know what's highly improbable or beyond crazy anymore. In this day and age, who even woos and courts and does whatever the hell Eduardo's been doing over the past few weeks and months even. Eduardo has definitely messed him up for life.  
(In hindsight, allowing Dustin to pick a slew of romantic comedies for their movie night last week was probably not the wisest decision. Mark's head is going to be filled with all sorts of romantic clichés and tropes for _eons_. Life-ruiners, all of them. Even Chris, his supposedly stern friend-type boss person can't help but make exasperatedly fond faces in the direction of Mark's cubicle when he thinks no one's paying attention. But Mark is, oh, how he is.)

And when Mark _does_ actually manage to get some sleep, he dreams of Eduardo—envisioning different features and trying to piece the parts together, as if Mark can somehow recreate him in his mind. It doesn’t quite work.

Truth be told, he’s always wondered what Eduardo might look like—is he tall or more Mark’s height, dark-haired or lighter or even a redhead, blue eyes or brown or green or hazel, is he built to row crew—there are so many different permutations that Mark would need some kind of algorithm to be able to somehow figure this out.

The easy thing to do would be to ask Dustin—surely he’s got a photo or two on his phone if they’re such good friends—but somehow that doesn’t _feel quite right_ , and even a little like an invasion of privacy. Yeah, it would save him a whole lot of trouble and waiting, but for whatever reason, Mark doesn’t want Eduardo to judge him, or worse, find him completely superficial for it.

It’s not a new development, by any means, but Mark truly does care a lot about what Wardo thinks.

.:.

“I can hear you freaking out.”

Mark freezes, hands hovering right above his laptop. He still has his headset on. Maybe if he stares at his computer screen long enough, Dustin will somehow magically go away.

“ _Mark_.”

Wishful thinking.

“You know it’s totally rude to ignore people.” Dustin says, tossing a crumpled piece of paper onto Mark’s keyboard.

Begrudgingly, he flattens it out—all that’s written on the paper is Mark’s name in all caps and a giant sad face, crudely drawn, single tear and all.

Mark turns to glare at Dustin, before crumpling the wrinkled note back into a ball and pelting him in the forehead with it. Dustin doesn’t look at all bothered by that, grinning brightly at Mark and saying, “I knew that would get your attention.”

“What do you want?” He tries not to scowl as Dustin happily makes his way over, wheeling his swivel chair and stopping right next to Mark, almost too close for comfort.

“I know I was unavailable before because of Wardo and _his needs_ ,” Dustin begins seriously. “But now I’m here for you, buddy.” He spreads his arms widely, in what Mark assumes is supposed to be an inviting gesture, but it ends up being far more frightening and flail-y. The manic grin doesn’t help Dustin’s case. Mark tries to roll his own chair slightly back and away, but to no avail, as Dustin eagerly follows suit.

Mark regrets ever asking him for advice in the first place, but he kind of does need a second opinion. He quickly scans the rest of the room, hoping everyone else is actually doing their job and not at all listening to this highly inappropriate workplace conversation—Chris is giving the two of them weird looks from his office, but it seems that no one else really gives a shit about Mark’s love life. Which is how it should be.

He’s still not going to chance it, so he drags Dustin by the arm into the empty break room, pushes him onto the couch and shuts the door behind them.

“Okay, fine. You win.” Mark grumbles. “What do you want from me?”

“This is an equal opportunity friendship.” Dustin says, nodding at Mark matter-of-factly. “So lay it on me.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I want to hear all about your emotional needs and Eduardo-related neuroses—okay, maybe not _all_ of them, because let me tell you, Wardo gets pretty rambly when he’s been drinking, and I do _not_ want to hear the graphic details of your weirdly kinky phone sex. _Never again_.” Dustin adds, adamant. “As long as I live.”

Mark immediately flushes at that, but he’s less embarrassed and more pleased to hear that Wardo talks about him to other people, okay well, _Dustin_ at least—god, he’s turning into a smitten grade-schooler. How utterly undignified.

“You were right, okay? I’m _nervous_.” Mark admits with a sigh, staring down at his hands uncomfortably. “Wardo and I—we’re going to meet, like _actually meet_ , and I’m honestly this close to freaking out about the whole thing and calling it off.”

“You don’t have to be, you know.” Dustin says kindly. Mark looks at him, brow slightly furrowed. “I really, _really_ shouldn’t be telling you this, but Wardo’s kind of ridiculously into you.” He confides to Mark.

Mark’s eyes widen slightly at that, which Dustin takes as a sign to continue. “It’s pretty lame actually, but lately, all he ever does is go on and on about Mark _this_ and Mark _that_.” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Like we haven’t been friends this whole time and I don’t sit a few feet from you for hours on a regular basis.”

Mark has no idea what to say in response.

Dustin shakes his head, before leaning in more closely. “Do you even know how sickening it is to hear someone essentially describe Mark Zuckerberg as their dream guy? And there is not enough bleach in the world to scrub the image of you two _fucking_ out of my head—I don’t even care that it’s only phone sex at this point, it’s still just, _yuck_.” Dustin makes a gagging noise. “I do not need these intimate details getting embedded in my brain.”

Mark turns even redder and smacks him on the arm. “How is this supposed to help?”

“Ugh, you are being so unnecessarily difficult right now.” Dustin rolls his eyes again. Mark definitely doesn’t like being on this end of the conversation. “Look, the point is, for whatever reason, you totally have Eduardo _wrapped around your little finger_. He really doesn’t care about whatever the hell you’re freaking out over—the dude wants to write, like, fucking _sonnets_ dedicated to you. It’s so, so sad.” Dustin’s expression softens and he looks at Mark with inexplicably fond eyes. “And don’t kill me for saying this, but I love you guys and I want you both to be happy, okay?” He confesses, looking a little sheepish while saying it. “So don’t worry about it. I mean, what’s not to like?”

Mark gives Dustin a intensely skeptical look, arched eyebrow and all.

“Okay, besides the obvious.” He amends. “But seriously, Wardo knows all about your terrible social graces and he’s _still around_.” Dustin coughs awkwardly. “So to speak.”

Mark huffs a breath. “This is true.”

Dustin grins brightly at Mark’s reaction. “Just think of this as the first real step to your stupidly domestic life together. Don’t overanalyze.” He adds, nodding sagely. “You guys _like_ each other—so who cares about the other stuff? And even if things don’t work out in the end, this is college. You’ll live.” Dustin shrugs. “But I will tell you this much—I am _so_ not picking sides if that does happen—because well, you’re not my parents and also, that would probably get kinda ugly.” He concludes, making a face at the whole idea.

Mark can’t help but scoff at that, but Dustin does have a point. And _knows_ it, if the smug look on his face is any indication.

Mark hates it when Dustin is the reasonable one.

.:.

When _the day_ finally arrives, Mark is still a bundle of nerves.

(Sure, talking to Dustin did help, but it doesn’t alleviate all of his tension. Not even close.)

To be honest, Mark had always thought the whole butterflies in one’s stomach thing was some kind of romanticized exaggeration, but he’s definitely feeling them now—stupid things, fluttering around his insides with what must be razor-laced wings, Mark’s feeling so uncomfortable.

There’s nothing in his system but copious amounts of Red Bull, which doesn’t help with the jitters and he can’t even sit still long enough to _code_. Mark is literally _this close_ to tearing his hair out in sheer frustration. The only thing really stopping him is the fact that Wardo wouldn’t approve too much of that—he’s always trying to tell him to eat something and to sleep more and to generally take better care of himself so Mark’s basically sure this wouldn’t go over too well.

Not to mention Eduardo would probably make sad-sounding noises and pretend like everything was fine, when actually he’s totally despairing of Mark or something along those lines. They’re not even proper guilt trips, but somehow Mark ends up feeling pretty bad about whatever he’s done. Or not done.

The whole thing disgusts Mark a little.

Since their impromptu break room heart-to-heart, Dustin seems one step away from cradling Mark to his chest and holding tight, all while whispering terms of endearment into his hair. Or something equally extreme. Mark’s keeping an eye out, in the event Dustin actually snaps and goes through with such insanity. Mark’s never quite sure what goes through that insanely childlike and nonsensical brain of his, so he usually fears the worst.

Wardo simply _laughs and laughs_ , sounding absolutely delighted at this development, when Mark reports the whole thing back to him during their last (faceless) phone call. (It’s only a few hours now before Eduardo’s last class gets out for the day and he’s supposed to stop by the tech department.)

And just like that, Mark’s feeling a little more at ease.

.:.

Okay, so Mark definitely spoke too soon.

He has no idea how he lost track of time—it’s not even live yet and _TheFacebook’s_ already a problematic distraction in Mark’s life, which is sort of disconcerting. But that’s not even the worst part.

Now that Mark’s more than fully aware of his surroundings, he notices that there’s someone tall and lean and dark-haired talking animatedly with Dustin—that _has_ to be Eduardo.

Without his consent, Mark’s body starts to rebel against him—Mark’s pulse starts racing (like it did on the phone with Eduardo a few nights ago), and he can feel his chest tightening, the pangs sharp and unrelenting. His throat also feels like it’s closing up, dry and prickly—it almost hurts to breathe, like Mark’s somehow drowning on air.

The butterflies and their razorblade wings are back with a vengeance.

Why on earth didn’t Mark plan everything better? Think this through more. At the very least, _remember_ to put a little effort in, appearance-wise.

Here Mark is, in a well-worn hoodie whose best days have long passed (as evidenced in the rip by his sleeve and numerous holes every which where), unwashed jeans and _flip-flops_ for god's sake. He’s grateful he had the foresight to _shower_ before work today, but there wasn’t any shampoo so Mark’s hair is currently unruly and unkempt and sort of a greasy mess.

Mark can practically picture the disappointment in Eduardo’s eyes the second he gets a chance to study him up close. He’s admittedly never been the most fashion-conscious and occasionally forgetful when it comes to general hygiene, but he’s never really _cared_ before so Mark’s not exactly sure why this bothers him so much. (That’s probably a lie.)

Meanwhile, Eduardo looks _fantastic_ with his stupidly handsome face complete with ridiculously large, brown doe-eyes and perfectly bitable lips and soft-looking hair that Mark kind of wants to tug on. (He probably _conditions_ and everything.)

Ugh, and he’s disgustingly well-dressed to boot—not that Mark’s got any reason to complain, when Wardo looks _that good_ , but who the hell wears perfectly form-fitting suits in college anyway? This is so unfair.

Mark feels so woefully inadequate. It’s a new sensation, to say the least. But not at all, a welcome one.

Eduardo keeps exceeding all his expectations and turning everything Mark knows around and sideways, almost to the point of frustration. (Subconsciously, Mark’s pretty sure that Wardo’s not going to care what sort of clothes he’s wearing or that he’s truly _that_ blunt and sarcastic, probably even more so in person—rationally, Mark _knows_ these things, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t quite believe them.)

Fortunately for Mark, Dustin and Eduardo seem to be so deep in conversation that they don’t notice him kind of standing awkwardly, looking vaguely like a madman with the way he’s half-gawking at them. Though this is going to get humiliating fast if Mark doesn't think of something _this very second_.

Mark notices straight away when Eduardo finally spots him—it’s kind of hard not to with his face breaking into a bright, literally breathtaking smile (and Mark is _so far gone_ if he's this close to listing platitudes and likening Eduardo's face right now to the _sun_ , ugh, he should really get a hold of himself)—and that's it, maybe it’s pathetic, but Mark _really can't do this_.

So maybe he’s blowing this all entirely out of proportion, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Mark purposefully avoids further eye contact with Eduardo (or Dustin for that matter) and turns abruptly around to head towards the back of the department. He ignores Dustin's confused calling of his name, deftly weaving past Chris who's showing some random new girl around (Mark only narrowly misses knocking directly into her side), and ducking into the practically abandoned supply closet that no one ever goes into.  
Mark locks the door behind him, before sliding down, less than gracefully, to lean his back and head against it. Inexplicably, he’s out of breath and his heart is pounding.

What the hell is Mark even doing?

It’s _Eduardo_ , who Mark has literally dreamed about meeting in person and for whatever reason, he’s intimidated and terrified and it’s absolutely, _gut-wrenchingly awful._

And now, Mark is a loser hiding out with a bunch of cracked LCD screens and abandoned motherboards and it's really, truly, beyond pathetic.

.:.

Mark gets only a momentary reprieve, not nearly enough time to collect his thoughts (and maybe gather up some courage, assuming there’s even any to spare), since it takes all of two minutes for Dustin and Eduardo to make their way to the closet door.

It’s probably more than a bit childish, but Mark ignores the polite knocking (and then, Dustin’s more insistent banging and yelling at Mark to _stop being such an idiot and open up already_ ), closing his eyes and pretending he’s anywhere else, but here, in some dusty storage room with outdated computer parts.

Mark’s not sure when the noises stop, but he thinks he can make out Eduardo’s voice, soft and practically whisper-like, telling Dustin to leave them alone for a moment. It’s not too hard to notice the way Dustin basically stomps away like a scolded child. (Not that Mark’s the epitome of maturity right now.)

It’s quiet for a moment, but then Mark senses Eduardo sitting down on the other side of the cold metal door, maybe even leaning parallel to where Mark is.

“Mark?” Wardo clears his throat somewhat awkwardly. “Do you, uh, want to explain why you’ve locked yourself in a _closet_?” He pauses, presumably to see if Mark will reply, before adding, “Dustin and I are getting kind of worried here.”

Mark bites his lip and doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he studies his hands intently, wishing he had the foresight to grab his phone from his desk before running and effectively trapping himself in here. At least, the thing could serve as a brief distraction. (Or maybe Mark could just _text his feelings_ to Eduardo via emoticons of course. He can't really form proper sense-making words right now. It’s rather disappointing and really, really unfortunate.)

“Okay,” Eduardo says gently after another minute or so of Mark not making a sound. “I accept that.” He pauses before adding, “I hope this isn’t some weirdly intense silent treatment for something I did,” Eduardo sounds genuinely bothered by the idea. Mark frowns to himself at that—Wardo shouldn’t be feeling _bad_ because Mark is some kind of delusional and an emotional failure. “But if it is, I’m, ah, incredibly sorry about whatever you may or may not be mad about.”

Mark tries to calm his breathing, steady the trembling in his hands, ignore the throbbing in his head—all to no avail. He closes his eyes.

“There’s also nothing wrong with us sitting here quietly, if that’s, um, what you want.”

Irrationally, Mark finds himself _mad_ at Eduardo for being so damn understanding about the whole thing.

The thought makes Mark bite his bottom lip even harder, not quite enough to break the skin, but enough to keep him from blurting out something stupid and hurtful that would give Eduardo even more reasons to be wary and judgmental of him. (Not that Mark’s doing a very convincing job of presenting himself as a normal, not at all emotionally-stunted human being right now.)

After a few minutes of silence, (which is not quite awkward, but still rather uncomfortable, at least from Mark’s perspective), Eduardo resumes his end of this one-sided conversation.

Mark never says a word, but Eduardo keeps talking, his voice soft and gentle and comforting—asking Mark if he's alright, if he wants to do this another time, _if he thinks this is a mistake_.

Mark doesn’t think he could form an answer even if he tried, so he resolutely pretends to not be listening to Eduardo and his kind words.

What feels like a lifetime later, (but what must really only be mere minutes, maybe an hour at most), Wardo sighs, sounding tired and resigned, and stands up, stepping away from the door. Mark can just barely hear the sound of him brushing off his clothes for potential unwanted dirt and debris from the floor.

When Mark finally sees his shadow moving away and hears Eduardo's retreating footsteps, he pauses a moment before (bravely) unlocking and opening the door the tiniest crack—scarcely enough to peek his head out and find Eduardo, who’s not looking anywhere near where Mark is, talking quietly with Dustin as they stand near the main entrance, almost huddled together with their heads bent down low.

Mark frowns, trying to convince himself that the tightness in his chest has absolutely nothing to do with the look of abject misery on Eduardo's ridiculously beautiful face, when he finally looks up to give Dustin a small smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes at all.

It’s very likely that Mark deliberates his next move for a moment too long because right when he _finally_ resolves to push away this random, inexplicable bout of self-consciousness, Wardo is _leaving_.

Before he quite makes it to the door, Dustin briefly stops Eduardo by the arm, saying something in a low tone that Mark can’t catch from so far away, before patting him lightly on the back in what Mark assumes is a comforting gesture.

All Mark can really do is stand there—watching everything go down, half-hidden behind a solid metal door.

He makes himself sick sometimes.

.:.

When Eduardo's finally left, out through the front doors and _gone_ from the IT Department, Mark lets himself move slowly away from the closet to settle back down at his desk and smooth a hand over his laptop, his comfort zone.

Mark’s still feeling conflicted, but he heaves a small sigh of relief nonetheless (ignoring the pang of something unidentifiable in his chest). This is nothing, but a minor misunderstanding—Mark can explain everything to Eduardo later, as soon as he calls. Then, they can reschedule and do this the right way and live happily ever after or whatever. It's no big deal. This is totally fixable.

So Mark freaked. It’s not the end of the world. Right?

It's only when Dustin turns from his computer, spinning in his chair to face Mark directly, (like he knows _exactly_ how much of a coward Mark was only a moment or two ago), and begins to glare daggers at him, does Mark realize that maybe this is a bigger problem than he initially thought.

Dustin’s never been an intense guy, but he looks _right through_ Mark, as if he can read all the ridiculous insecure stupidity that was running through Mark's head earlier.

Mark is not at all reassured by the fact that Dustin proceeds to give him the silent treatment for the rest of the day, and when conversation is absolutely unavoidable, his tone is uncharacteristically cold, clipped and frustrated—on the verge of angry, even. This is especially worrying because that’s not like him _at all_.

Dustin doesn’t _do_ anger. He’s the buffer, never the catalyst. He gets mock offended or diffuses tense situations with laughter and smiles—Dustin is the silver lining, bright side, _why get bitter and petty and mad when you can just Google some cute kittens_ kind of guy.

It's almost funny (in a horribly tragic way), when Mark recalls how he used to always want Dustin to shut up and now, well, the realization of that is actually rather bittersweet and leaving Mark more than a little lonely during his shift.

.:.

Eduardo doesn't call.

.:.

It’s been a couple of days now since _the incident_ , and Mark, well, Mark’s surprised (and more than a little disappointed to find) that Dustin’s still trying to freeze him out.

In all honesty, Mark figured that Dustin would want to talk about it right away (and subsequently give him the advice necessary to fix things with Eduardo). Or at the very least, the weekend would’ve given Dustin enough time to get over being pissed at Mark. (Scowls and genuine glares don’t really suit his face—it feels like some twisted role reversal or personality transplant, where Dustin now has all of Mark’s less than personable qualities and Mark’s just kind of sad.) Meanwhile, Chris keeps giving him sympathetic looks, but doesn’t make any move to talk to Mark. Or not talk to him. (Mark’s still not sure where he stands on the whole matter or whether he even wants to hear all about Mark’s relationship problems.)

Mark hasn't been getting what he wants lately. (Or rather, he keeps fucking things up without even meaning to.)

He wonders whether it’s too soon to mourn. Or if there’s technically anything to mourn over—how much can you really feel for someone you’ve never actually met?

Apparently a ridiculous, almost excruciatingly intolerable amount. (Mark doesn’t understand how he feels so damn _awful_ —this is nothing like what went down with Erica, or that time when Mark was ten and decided he would marry his babysitter, before he found her on the couch one random night, lips swollen and half-giggling in the arms of her girlfriend—and he’s never even held Eduardo’s hand. The thought that Mark might never get even get a chance definitely stings.)

It’s reached the point where Mark can’t even close his eyes without envisioning Eduardo's face—all hurt and almost broken-looking. Mark’s dreams are haunted by this tension that could be a projection, his guilty conscience working overtime. (Probably not.) Either way, he sees Eduardo’s clenched jaw and pursed lips and sad, sad eyes. Those are probably the worst to think about. He wonders what Eduardo’s doing, if he feels anything like Mark does.

It gets easier just to not sleep at all.

Mark needs to work on _TheFacebook_ anyhow—unlike people, code doesn't judge Mark for freaking out (understandably or otherwise) or make him feel sad and ashamed and guilty and _generally miserable_.

Most of all, Mark knows how to tell when it's messed up or doesn’t quite work. And how to fix it.

There's a voice in the back of Mark's head that reminds him that this is all fine, but code obviously doesn't— _couldn't_ compare to Eduardo, who’s the best for Mark in all the ways that matter. Eduardo makes him feel (and want and long and care, but also hurt, which maybe Mark needs)—Eduardo’s real and tangible and all Mark has to do now is get him back and hold on.

Mark doesn't want to be a better person for Eduardo. That would be stupid and pointless. (And ultimately a recipe for disaster that would probably leave Mark feeling bitter and resentful a few months in.)

It may sound a little strange or maybe it doesn’t make any sense at all, but Mark wants to be a better _him_ —one that cares enough to want to eat healthier every so often and remembers to sleep regularly and can balance dreams of changing the world one line of code at a time with actual relationships, personal ones, based on love and friendship and family.

Sometimes Mark forgets how fleeting the people in his life can be. (It’s a bit of a shame it took this chaotic whirlwind of emotions for him to realize that fact.)

.:.

“I’m sorry.”

Dustin startles, dropping his tuna sandwich in his lap. He ignores the mess, sweeping most of the crumbs to ground before turning to gape at Mark, mouth comically wide and eyes big in shock.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me.” Mark curbs the urge to roll his eyes. “But, I, uh—I meant it. I was—the other day was stupid and I don’t know what happened—” He shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly and tries to avoid eye contact with Dustin. “It was foolish and regrettable and I didn’t mean to do—uh, what I did.”

Dustin’s face has noticeably softened, but there’s still an underlying tension that his slight smile can’t quite cover up.

“Did you tell Wardo any of this?”

Mark flinches at that. “No, I—”

Dustin shakes his head, appearing disappointed and slightly annoyed. “I didn’t think so.” He bites his lip, deliberating. “Mark, you’re my friend and as exhausting as it is trying to stay mad at you,” Mark glances up at him, a tiny flutter of hope in his chest at hearing this. “I’m sorry, but I can’t exactly forgive you right now either.”

Mark stares back down, studying his feet intently. He honestly can’t blame Dustin for feeling this way. Mark would probably be a hell of a lot less understanding in his situation.

“Uh, at least not until you talk to Eduardo, okay?” Dustin frowns, the lines in his forehead creasing. “He’s not—you _really_ need to talk to him,” he finishes, voice oddly serious.

“I don’t—what do I even _say_?”

“ _Mark_.” Dustin says gently, though he gets kind of a sad expression on his face. “A simple _hi_ is a good start. Maybe throw in a _sorry_ somewhere.” He shrugs. “It really doesn’t matter as long as you mean it.”

Mark bites at his bottom lip, taking this all into consideration, before nodding rapidly at Dustin.

“Okay.” He half-breathes. Mark’s chest feels tight again, his veins starting to thrum—but not in a bad way, not like before. He doesn’t feel like running.

Dustin’s face lights up at that, reverting to the fond looks that Mark had sort of missed over these past few days.

“Okay,” Mark repeats, slightly more confidently this time. “I can definitely do that.”

.:.

Mark probably should’ve resolved to call Eduardo a lot sooner.

Maybe then, he’d be answering his phone. Or responding to Mark’s numerous texts.

Mark even tracked down his university email address and dorm room number, which doesn’t really pan out. For starters, Mark wouldn’t know what to write that he hasn’t already tried via text and long-winded messages left on Eduardo’s voicemail. And Mark doesn’t want Wardo thinking he’s a stalker on top of everything that’s happened. That would probably be the ultimate deal-breaker.

This is depressing.

Mark’s resorted to burying himself in code again. He takes occasional breaks to despair quietly as he chews on packs upon packs of Red Vines and maybe even mopes about everything to Dustin, who can only tell him to _give it time_ and _keep trying_.

Mark hopes he’s right.

.:.

The very next day, as Mark’s headed towards the IT Department after his OS Lab, he spots Eduardo from across the quad.

His body immediately reacts—especially his heart, which starts beating noticeably faster and nearly stuttering with anticipation as his entire chest swells with hope and Mark just _feels so much affection_ from simply being able to _look_ at Wardo’s face again.

Mark’s not one to be poetic or overly sentimental, but it’s got to be some act of luck or chance or the goodwill of one random unknown deity—it doesn’t really matter because it’s _Eduardo_ and it’s a gloriously warm and sunny day and this is like a scene straight out of a movie so all Mark needs to do now is breathe and use his words.

And then Mark notices that Eduardo’s not alone.

Fate is such a cruel mistress.

.:.

Mark sort of stands there uncomfortably for a second, practically gaping at the two of them.

He’s gone over a million scenarios in his head over the last week or so, but for whatever reason, this was _not one of them_. Was it naïve of Mark to think that Eduardo would wait on him to come around? Even if it was, a _week_ is not nearly enough time for a person to mourn the loss of their phone-boyfriend, right? Mark is actually pretty offended by this development.

Unless, Mark’s jumping to conclusions. Again, so woefully underprepared for this. He really needs to work on his planning skills.

Whatever, Mark will just go over there and ask. What’s the worst that could happen? Other than his heart officially snapping into little metaphoric pieces.

There’s a voice in his head, (which sounds suspiciously like Dustin), telling him not to freak out and run again. Mark’s never needed to solve his problems this way in the past, so why set a standard when it comes to Wardo?

So Mark sighs, darts a glance around the quad and finally decides he doesn’t really care who sees, before he starts running after Eduardo.

He chases Eduardo down the pathway, flip-flops sounding almost embarrassingly loud against the pavement. Not that Eduardo notices—so caught up in conversation with the pretty brunette who’s been plastered to his side the entire time. But Mark’s not going to be jealous—not until he knows for sure.

He watches in _abject horror_ as she leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Wardo's mouth, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and presumably heading to class.

Okay, so that might be a problem. Mark didn't think he fucked up _this_ badly.

.:.

“Mark?”

“It’s been _a week_ , Wardo.” Mark says, his tone short and clipped and maybe even a bit accusatory. (Which he immediately regrets because coming off like a lover scorned doesn’t seem like the best way to start potentially love-life-altering conversation.)

Eduardo frowns, seeming faintly perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“I, uh, saw—” Mark gestures weakly in the general direction he saw the girl head off to, before feeling confused and hurt again at the idea that Eduardo’s _already found someone new_ and scowls. “You can’t date her. That—that’s—you just can’t okay?” He manages to spit out, his voice steely and resolute. “Not her. And not anyone else.”

Eduardo freezes, staring at Mark—his features contorting into an expression that’s disbelieving and frustrated and maybe even a little hurt. “Mark, _no_.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “Chris—she's a friend. That’s all. I wouldn’t— _god_.” Mark wants to breathe a sigh of relief, but Eduardo suddenly frowns, like he only just remembered to be mad at him again. “Not that you have any right or say in the matter.”

Mark sucks in a breath. “Okay, I deserve that. And I didn't mean to imply you were promiscuous or like, _cheating_ —not that there's anything wrong with that or like, immoral. Promiscuity, I mean.” Mark pauses and tilts his head, considering. “I would probably be kinda bummed if you were dating someone else on the side though,” he admits.

Eduardo cuts him off with an impatient noise. “Was there a point to this, Mark?” He narrows his eyes slightly. Mark couldn't really tell from the confines of the supply closet, but Eduardo’s actually kind of tall. Noticeably taller than Mark, at least. And a little commanding like this. (It'd probably be stupidly attractive if Mark hadn't been such an idiot the other day.)

“I—” Mark can’t seem to get anything out, his mouth dry and numb. And seriously, his tongue has _got_ to stop betraying him at these critical moments. As if Eduardo needs more reasons to opt out of this—whatever this is.

“Look, it's fine if you don't want to see me—I can accept that,” Eduardo continues. “And I, uh, probably should’ve returned your calls, but honestly, I was sort of putting this conversation off.” He pauses, adding more quietly.

“Y’know, I thought maybe it wasn’t going to matter—the whole seeing each other for the first time thing. I didn’t think it’d be that big a deal. But then—well, you were there.” Eduardo shrugs, looking a bit self-deprecating in the process. “Sort of.”

Mark can’t be hearing what he thinks he is. “Wardo.”

He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t need to know the specifics—I just want to make sure we’re on the same page so I don't waste any more of your time. Or mine, for that matter.” Eduardo looks so _serious_ that Mark almost wants to shake him and yell at him (and maybe hold and cling to him forever—or something less desperate-sounding). ”I’m sorry I wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted.” He finishes quietly, a pained expression in his eyes.

Ugh, how could Eduardo get this so, _so completely wrong_? This is a disaster of epic proportions.

“No.” Mark feels himself gazing up at Wardo, aghast. “ _God,_ no.” He reaches to grab Eduardo’s hand. It feels warm and strong and _real_. “Wardo, you don't understand—” Mark manages to get out, the words tumbling rapidly and nervously from his mouth. (He’d probably feel a little self-conscious about the fact if this wasn't so important.) “That's like the _exact opposite_ of what I want.” Eduardo stills, his mouth slightly open in what Mark assumes is surprise or maybe even shock. “Let me explain—oh god, this is so incredibly idiotic and insane and beyond illogical in hindsight, but I was scared, okay?”

Eduardo gives him a skeptical look, but allows Mark to continue. He takes the fact that Wardo’s still holding onto his hand as a positive sign.

“I—I just saw you there with Dustin and freaked.” Mark admits, sheepishly. “And not in the way you probably think.” Mark quickly clarifies. “I was a mess and then I saw you—all stupidly perfect and handsome and put-together and I panicked.” Mark fiddles with the string of his hoodie with his free hand and avoids looking anywhere near Wardo's face. “It was stupid, I know.” Mark bites his lip awkwardly, and chances a glance at Eduardo—he's staring straight at Mark, his face mostly unreadable. Mark doesn't know what to take from all of this. “I'm really, _really_ sorry.” He chances a look at their intertwined hands. “I’m sorry I ran.” Mark takes a breath before continuing “And I’m sorry for hurting you, even inadvertently. I don’t know how I let it get that far or why it happened but—”

Mark doesn't really get a chance to finish his sentence because before he even has time to process—Eduardo's letting go of Mark's hand and pulling him in by the collar, causing Mark to stumble a little ungracefully, but it doesn't matter, because Wardo is _right there_ —warm and solid and steady and _kissing Mark_ , which is kind of ridiculously perfect.

.:.

**EPILOGUE**

Three months later, Mark’s somehow managed not to fuck things up with Eduardo. At least, not irreparably. (He’s not perfect, after all.)

He’s actually pretty happy with the state of his life right now—evidenced in the fact that Mark’s tech support skills and overall politeness rival even Dustin’s nowadays, (though Mark now actively ignores calls from the Winklevii and various professors—it’s really not worth killing his good mood over and Chris doesn’t even seem to mind Mark’s doing it in the first place.) Sometimes Wardo takes Mark’s calls for fun, but while he’s charming and polite, Eduardo’s tech knowledge is outdated and more than lacking so he ends up making a lot of things up, while Mark has to muffle his laughter into his shoulder. Chris banned Wardo for an entire week for that. He only lasts three days. Eduardo has that effect on people. (The delicious homemade coffee and donuts help—though Mark still doesn’t know how they come to be, when Wardo’s living in a kitchen-less single. He wouldn’t put it past Wardo to secretly be some kind of magic.)

And as much as Mark hates to admit it, they really are turning into one of _those_ couples. (Dustin’s even got wedding invitations mocked up—a blue and white color scheme, naturally. Mark vetoes the F-themed menu. Not that this is a real wedding, but Mark’s got to lay down some authority lest Dustin go mad with metaphorical wedding-planning power.)

Mark starts sleeping regularly (well, it’s more like he winds up in Wardo’s bed more often than not, but there’s always sleep involved _after_ —Mark’s grown accustomed to having Eduardo’s warm body curled up comfortably around him) and Eduardo visits the IT Department during his breaks and after class—whenever he can, really.

The latter pleases Dustin, except for the time Eduardo pulls Mark into that same supply closet that nearly ruined everything for a quick, frantic, but ultimately satisfying make-out session. (After taking one look at the disheveled state of their clothes and the mess that was once Wardo’s perfectly coiffed hair—Dustin, being Dustin, pouts and makes generally displeased noises about how Eduardo has no time to play with him anymore now that he’s off doing grossly inappropriate things with Mark. Eduardo just shoves Dustin playfully before wrapping his arms around him a placing a loud wet kiss on his cheek. The old Mark probably wouldn’t have approved of this behavior at all. But really, he’s smiling way too hard to even come up with anything scathing to say.)

Maybe they’re a bit on the domestic side, (at least that’s what Dustin keeps telling anyone who’ll listen after he stumbles in on one of their more ridiculous “arguments”—for the record, breakfast foods are serious business and Mark will not tolerate Wardo’s insistence that he can love both waffles and crêpes equally—that is sacrilegious and no amount of bribery via the promise of syrup-coated body parts will change that, but Mark really, really hates it when Wardo plays dirty like that), but they’re far from the worst.

For example, Mark doesn’t do public displays of affection, (besides quick pecks on the lips in greeting or like, letting Eduardo hug him from behind while he’s trying to code)—that stuff is unwarranted and personal and okay, maybe there are more selfish reasons involved, but Mark really doesn’t want the world to know what Eduardo looks like flushed and dark-eyed and heavy-lidded—those things are Mark’s and Mark’s _exclusively._

And aside from the whole Christy misunderstanding, Mark doesn’t get jealous. (Honest.) Wardo’s allowed to have friends. Even hot female ones. Who also happen to be clever and funny and single. Mark trusts him implicitly. (Okay, so Mark will admit that he’s slightly more comfortable when Eduardo’s off hanging out with Dustin—who is perfectly nice and harmless and has no designs on Wardo’s virtue or whatever. At least, none that Mark knows of. But that doesn’t cancel out the whole trust thing.)

Eduardo, on the other hand, likes to leave bite-marks all over his body (and admire his handiwork on Mark’s almost embarrassingly pale skin the next day _with his tongue_ ). As if Mark has viable options that are anywhere near as good as Eduardo and his lovely face and stupid hair and muscle-y parts. (Mark would probably take the issue up with him if he didn’t enjoy the process so much.)

All in all, Mark’s got nothing to really complain about.

.:.

Two weeks later, Eduardo tells Mark, _I love you_ , for the first time.

It’s early on a Saturday morning and Mark’s still half-asleep, (not to mention, worn out from last night’s activities), so it takes him a second or like, five, to process the words and Wardo’s faint blushing.

Mark falls off the bed in shock. Which is probably not the most appropriate reaction.

And while Eduardo bursts into surprised laughter at that, once the amusement has subsided, he gets a sort of anxious, uncertain look in his eyes that Mark absolutely hates being the cause of—so Mark wraps his arms around him and whispers, _thank you_ , into Eduardo’s neck, which is really the best he can do right now, and kisses him and kisses him.

He’ll make it up to Wardo soon. The only way he knows how.

.:.

It’s a perfectly normal afternoon, when Mark finishes it.

Nothing out of the ordinary. (Unless you count the thrill of anticipation—the almost overwhelming mix of nervousness, excitement and pride.)

Mark needs to find Wardo. _Now_

.:.

Eduardo’s fooling around with Dustin in the break room, trying to throw differently-sized objects into a mug that Mark’s pretty sure belongs to Chris. There’s a whiteboard with what looks to be a complicated scoring system. Mark’s torn between rolling his eyes and wanting to participate. Now’s obviously not the time though.

Wardo smiles softly at Mark and reaches to pull him into a kiss, but Mark can’t even think about that right now. He makes a faint noise of surprise as Mark takes him by the hand, quickly dragging him past the doors and to his desk, ignoring Dustin’s yells about _quickies being inappropriate workplace behavior_.

Mark pushes Eduardo into a chair and pulls out his laptop, fingers moving deftly across his keyboard. “There’s something I want you to see.”

Wardo gives him a brief look of confusion before turning his attention to the screen. “What—”

“It’s what I’ve been working on—I know I’ve been vague over the phone and maybe you thought I didn’t want to bore you with coding talk, but I was really, uh—” Mark looks faintly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing a pale pink. He clears his throat. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

Eduardo gives him a weird look. “Like what?”

Mark turns impossibly redder. “The other day—you, um, said that you—”

This time, Eduardo blushes, and reaches for Mark’s hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Ugh, stop being stupid.” Mark makes a frustrated noise. “Of course, I feel the same.”

The expression on Eduardo’s face is indescribably perfect. “ _Mark_.”

Okay, contrary to popular belief, Mark’s not like, a _machine_ , so obviously he’s going to get momentarily distracted and kiss Wardo in full view of everyone in the IT lab. Eduardo makes a pleased sound into Mark’s mouth and it would be so incredibly easy to let him pull Mark into his lap and just _touch_ —public decency be damned—but Mark had a _reason_ for all of this and has to pull away, albeit reluctantly.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

Eduardo makes a face. His lips are already a little redder than normal. “Stop being so _you_ —it’s terribly distracting.” Mark explains.

Wardo lets out an undignified snort at that. “Whatever you say, Mark.” He turns to look at the computer screen. “So what did you want to show me now?”

Mark makes an annoyed noise. “See, totally distracting.” He types some more and rearranges a few things, then pulls up the familiar blue-and-white screen for _TheFacebook_. He shifts his laptop over so Wardo can get a clear view of the page layout and everything that’s on it.

“That looks really good.” Wardo breathes. “ _Mark_ , is that—”

_Relationship status_  
  
 _Mark Zuckerberg is in love with Eduardo Saverin._  


“Okay, I know it’s a little sappy and technically I never asked you about this, but I figure since you, uh, told me you love me, it makes perfect sense that we be the first official couple or whatever listed on the site.” Mark pauses. “And uh, it’s slightly modified—we would be the only ones listed this way—everyone else gets a more generic option.”

Eduardo’s silent for a moment. It’s unnerving. Mark frets and worries and fidgets in his seat.

Maybe it was presumptuous that Eduardo would even want his own page, let alone a public declaration, but then he glances up at Mark, eyes wide and shining brightly, like Mark hung the moon or painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or cured every disease known to mankind—or maybe all those things and more.

“I love you, okay?” Mark blurts out. “And I know I’m difficult sometimes and forget basic human necessities like regular sleep and sustenance, but I do.”

“Mark?” Eduardo’s smiling, which must be a good thing.

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

“So you’ve said.” Mark rolls his eyes. “Do you not have anything to say about our _TheFacebook_ page? This feels awfully anticlimactic.”

Wardo shakes his head exasperated, and looks at Mark—somehow managing to convey a multitude of emotions, but the one Mark sees the clearest is the one that says he loves him _so much_ and wouldn’t trade him for anything. (It makes Mark’s heart clench and his throat constrict and the butterflies, those ridiculous, metaphoric nuisances, flutter around his insides, wings sharp as always, but it’s okay because none of that hurts anymore.) Until now, Mark wasn’t quite sure such a look existed.

Eduardo grabs Mark and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Dustin makes some sort of ungodly whooping noise behind them, but Wardo promptly flips him off and turns back to Mark, his face so perfect and handsome and _fond_ , and handily lifts him onto his lap and resumes kissing Mark and touching Mark and _loving Mark_ like his life depends on it.

That seems like the best response Mark could’ve asked for.

  


END.


End file.
